


Epitaphs/Epithets

by Prince_Hamlet



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Panic Attacks, Space Adventure, Space Flight, TPP Minibang 2019, diverges after Monster's Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-20 12:04:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17622050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prince_Hamlet/pseuds/Prince_Hamlet
Summary: Juno Steel is dead.He stays with Buddy, he starts his new life of crime, and he lets everyone in Hyperion City assume he died in that desert next to Pilot and the Piranha. It's better this way.But he just can't resist going to his own funeral.Juno Steel is dead.Peter hears it on the news mid-interstellar journey. He handles it. Not well, but he handles it.Once he comes to terms with the detective's death, there's only one thing left to do: pay his respects.





	1. Khere

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Ginnie PrivateBi for being a fantastic beta and putting up with all my extremely specific questions, she really put my mind at ease and allowed me to actually finish this monster.
> 
> I'll be updating every other day, so keep an eye out.
> 
> Tags are subject to change bc i forgot everything that happens in this fic.

Juno stayed away from Hyperion City.

As much as he wanted to swoop in and save the day, bag the bad guy, be the big hero, he honestly wasn’t sure who the bad guy was. After listening to that audio biography about Jack Takano while recovering from the surgery… it all lined up. Jack wanted to make a better city. A fair place. He wanted to help. But he couldn’t make his dream city with cartoon facades and amusement park rides.

He needed a real city.

And now he had one. Juno had already done enough damage. Going back would probably only make it worse. Everyone he knew was better off thinking he’d died in the desert somewhere and been buried by the sand.

He put it out of his mind. He put his head down. He worked. Buddy and Vespa kept the jobs coming, and they were good at what they did. Juno learned his way around a switchblade, shot bottles off the top of the lighthouse when they returned from a heist. Got a little better, bit by bit.

Buddy gave him a new eyepatch once the bandage came off. A little over dramatic, criss-crossing over his nose and covering the whole right half of his face from forehead to cheekbone. He shaved his head, got new clothes. He barely recognized himself in the mirror.

He looked like a lady you don’t fuck with.

He looked like a hardened criminal from the wastes.

He looked dangerous.

Better like this. People don’t have to figure it out the hard way.

He tried to stay away from news about Hyperion. Every time he caught even a word of a headline or a broadcast, he’d be sucked in until he passed out from the whiskey or The Big Guy pulled him out if it.

Newtown was open, every person that lost their homes and then some were given a place. O’Flarity kept his promises. It seemed Hyperion was just fine without Juno. Better, even.

So, he put his head down, and he worked.

...Until he saw the headline of the paper in the hands of the man across from him in the café. Juno immediately stopped playing sad hungover and watching the door and instead fixated on the paper.

Hero Juno Steel Declared Dead, Mayor Plans Memorial

It was easy to think about your own death. Weird to read about it though.

“Juno!” Buddy shouted in his ear. The couple in the corner sipping mimosas that Juno hadn’t thought were a threat jumped up and pulled guns the moment Buddy brought the goods out. The woman with dreads in the blazer swung her gun around the room and shouted at the other early morning patrons to put their heads on the table, arms up. The brunette in a floral sundress went for Buddy and their fake buyer was already on their way to the door.

So he put his head down, and he worked.

The headline though, it kept nagging at the back of his head. Usually when he got into these… episodes, as The Big Guy called them, doing a job pulled him out of it. But not this time.

He had tackled the buyer while Buddy handled Sundress and The Big Guy handled Blazer. Vespa went to Juno to secure the goods and knock out the buyer. When Juno turned around, Blazer had shot The Big Guy in the center of the chest, sending him flying. Sundress disengaged from Buddy and the both of them were almost out the door. Juno only had time to line up one shot. He aimed in between them, hoping he’d hit at least one of them in the arm and slow them down.

Instead, he hit Blazer in the center of the back.

It happened in slow motion.

Blazer hit the ground with a soft thud. Sundress made it to the door before she noticed and turned around, but as soon as she saw the blood she screamed. Her eyes went from the woman on the ground to the gun in Juno’s hands, and the grief in her face was only outmatched by the sheer rage she leveled at him. For a moment, it seemed like she would attack him, but then they all heard the police sirens in the distance. With one last look at Blazer, she was out the door. 

Juno was next to Blazer before he even knew what he was doing. It was a direct hit and even with the modifications he’d made to his gun… He flipped her over onto her back as gently as he could and felt for her pulse with shaking hands. 

She was alive.

Juno wasn’t a killer.

Dimly he heard the sirens getting closer and Vespa trying to get him up. He zip tied Blazer’s hands, double checked that she’d survive the next few minutes before the authorities showed up, and followed them out the door.

 

By the time the police came, Juno, Buddy, Vespa, and The Big Guy were already gone, sitting in Buddy’s new junker of a ship, headed back to the lighthouse to regroup. Juno’s mind strayed back to the headline. He tried not to think about it too much.

But…

Thinking about your death is one thing. Expecting it, imagining it, even planning it every once in a while. It’s easy to look at your life and your flaws and think that everyone would be better off without you. Happier. It’s easy to imagine getting put in a columbarium and getting the one or two people who felt obligated to show up for the service or leave sad, grocery store flowers.

It’s not often one can actually go to their own funeral.

When Juno put the comms in his ear and searched for Hyperion City’s news stations, The Big Guy gave him a look.

“Juno-“ He warned.

“This one’s important,” Juno shot back. “It’s not just news it’s—” he paused. If The Big Guy knew what he was thinking of doing… “It’s about someone that I knew. He died. I want to hear about it.”

The Big Guy stared at Juno for a second before giving a slight nod and going back to inspecting the damage in his laser-proof vest.

Juno listened to his obituary.

The memorial was in two weeks.

He had to be there.

 

“Well now that that deal fell through, we’ll have to find a new buyer or the whole operation will have been for nothing,” Buddy announced over dinner. “Any ideas?” 

“What about our guy in The City of Lights? You know, on that one planet with the the two suns?” Vespa suggested.

“Caze Banks? It’s possible, but I haven’t heard from him in 10 years. He could very well be dead or in jail by now.”

“I knew a few people on a planet near there who might be interested,” the Big Guy added. 

“Hm… Juno?”

Juno, lost in thought, looked up to see all eyes on him with a mouth full of food. “What?”

“Anything to add? Leads on a new buyer?”

“Uh, yeah, no. The only criminals I’m buddy-buddy with are in jail. Most of them because of me.”

Buddy sighed. “Then I suppose we’ll have to do some planet hopping. First the City of Lights, then your connections, and we’ll go from there.”

Juno picked at the food on his plate. “Mind if I sit this one out, guys? I’m uh, still a little shook up from the last mission. Plus it sounds like I’m not going to be much help on this one.”

Buddy and the Big Guy exchanged a Look over the table.

“Juno, would you like one of us to stay behind with you?” The Big Guy asked. 

“No,” Juno said, a little too quickly. “I just… need some alone time. Is all.” He didn’t totally care if they bought it or not. Maybe of they didn’t buy it they would stop him. The reasonable part of him tried to leave that option open even as the unreasonable part of him knew he’d find a way to slip away, for better or worse. 

They planned their trip over the next few weeks and left a mere day before Juno Steel’s memorial. 

Before their ship had even left the atmosphere Juno was in the market bartering for a ride to Hyperion. 

 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

Several months ago, Peter Nureyev woke up alone in a Hyperion City hotel room. 

So what? He had woken up alone every day of his life since he was sixteen, with the exception of the past few weeks where he’d been held captive.

So, life goes on, right? Just go back to how it was before Juno had walked into his life and changed everything, piece of cake. And it was. It was fine. Until it wasn’t.

You see, no matter where he went, no matter what he did, Juno was there. Every dark-haired, dark-skinned person with an undercut was Juno. Every person in a duster was Juno. Every soft voice was Juno. Peter passed him on the street, saw him through the crowds in bars, heard him even in the silence of a hotel room.

It’s hard to go from weeks of falling asleep to the steady sound of someone’s breath to staying awake in the jarring silence.

It’s hard to go from not caring, from being alone, to giving everything to one person, to learning how to trust again.

It’s harder to go back, once that’s been ripped from you.

It’s annoying, too, to see someone everywhere. It also may be another side effect of the trauma of being tortured for a few weeks straight, like panicking at the sight of children’s cards or suddenly reliving memories that had been dealt with long ago.

It was enough to make a man go mad.

So he may have made some mistakes. Wouldn’t you? Anyone would. It was so hard to sleep, anyone would make a few mistakes. Like, for example, just off the cuff, maybe if you were so dead tired, you might become convinced in the middle of a job that a stranger was actually your femme fatale, the one that got away, and you might abandon everything you’re doing, compromise your mission, compromise yourself, because you yanked them into a dark hallway and became increasingly upset that said stranger didn’t know that you were “Peter Nureyev, goddammit, you know me, you’re the only one who does, why did you forget my name?”

You know, simple mistakes like that.

So he got sloppy.

Years and years and decades of doing nothing but surviving and one lady comes along, makes you believe in something, leaves you behind, and suddenly you can’t remember how to do anything that was second nature just a few months before.

It was enough to make a man go mad.

Peter changed planets more often, changed aliases more than that. Too many interstellar flights in such a short period of time aren’t good for the mind or body, but Peter was sure that if he paused for even a second he wouldn’t be able to keep going.

Above all else, he avoided news of Mars and especially news of Hyperion City like the plague. On the days where he was in a worse mood than normal, however, he sought it out like water in the desert. Any mention of Juno Steel, of where he is and what he was up to. He imagined what it would be like if he was there. If he had stayed behind, or if Juno had come with.

It was enough to make a man go mad.

But he was doing fine, he was doing better.

Until on a long interstellar flight, he tuned into a Martian radio station, and he heard the news.

Odd, right? If he had chosen a different station, if he had listened a day earlier or a day later, maybe he never would’ve known. But even then he still felt like he would know. There was something different about a universe without Juno Steel. There were more dark corners. People didn’t smile as much. Everything was harder.

Odd is the only word. More than a year ago he didn’t know Juno Steel existed. But now? Now that he was-- Now that there was no more Juno Steel, everything was different again, but this time it was so much worse.

It’s odd, isn’t it? If he hadn’t taken that job on Mars, if Min had given a different death threat, if Juno had had the good sense to stay away, he never would’ve known. Would that be better? No. If Peter could rewind time, he’d live through a thousand realities where Juno Steel had lived and died and been by his side for even the briefest of moments before he went through even one where they would never meet.


	2. Teléia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is art for this chapter!!! Drawn by the fantastic specialtator on tumblr it is just so, so good. Link is in the notes at the bottom, make sure you give it a reblog!!

The memorial was a big affair in the square in front of city hall. A crowd gathered, a thousand people mourning for the hero who brought down Pilot and maybe ten mourning for Juno Steel. Juno stood near the back of the crowd, a face among thousands hidden by a wide hood. Above the podium on city hall’s steps was a screen flipping uncaringly through the snapshots of Juno Steel’s short, shit life. A picture of him, young, with Ben. With Sarah. With them both, on a rare pleasant family vacation. A picture from him and Ben’s 20th birthday, a few weeks before his death. They’d used that picture for Ben’s funeral too. A picture of him graduating from the police academy. Newspaper clippings from the few good things he’d done, with a noticeable gap in dates between the police stories and the PI stories. His PI registry picture. Pictures that Rita had taken of them both going to the movies or on a case or on any number of inane little trips immortalized forever in front of the whole city as one of the few times where Juno Steel smiled. His whole life, with all the negatives edited out, condensed into a slideshow. It was like reading someone else’s biography. 

Ramses made a speech about his brave deeds. It made his skin prickle about how wrong it all was. Watching the man that ruined his life nearly 40 years ago call Juno his “partner in good” in front of a weeping crowd of people who never knew him.

Rita was supposed to be next, but she couldn’t get a single word out through the tears and Ramses walked her away from the podium.

Then Sasha. “I’ve practically known Juno since we were born,” she started. “I called him dashingly handsome once when we were five, and he never let me live it down.”

And for some reason, that’s the one that did it. Juno fought his way out through the crowd, tears flowing. He found his way to a bench a few streets over and let himself choke out a sob. He didn’t care about the concerned passers-by skirting around him. He was dead, after all. 

After the memorial, he knew Ramses would invite those who actually knew him to go to the columbarium itself to pay their respects. So, when he calmed down enough, he set off in its direction.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Jove Aramis was an old man. He leaned on his cane, hat low over his hair, and stood in the crowd at the steps of Hyperion City Hall for the memorial of Juno Steel, Hyperion City’s latest martyr. Mr. Aramis knew Juno. He’d hired Detective Steel to help find his missing daughter, and been amazed by Juno’s wit, skill, and kindness. There wasn’t a better man or a finer lady in all of Hyperion, he would say if asked. No one asked, but Peter kept the explanation close at hand anyway. As good as he usually was at hiding his true emotions, he wasn’t sure it would work in this particular case. Juno was, as always, the exception. 

Jove Aramis stood in the crowd and let the eulogies wash over him. He watched the slide show of Juno Steel’s too-short life as the mayor told of his bravery, his unshakable morals, his dedication to good. Rita sobbed her way through a few unintelligible sentences before being calmly walked off stage. Agent Wire talked of their childhood exploits, her steady, impassive face breaking once or twice into grief. One by one the people closest to Juno went up to pay their respects and tell stories that Peter had never heard. Stories of a little life that never made it into official files or newspaper clippings. Peter could probably write out a timeline of Juno Steel’s entire life, but there was still so much he didn’t know. So much he would never know. He wished, desperately wished, that Rita would come back to the podium and tell of all of the everyday things about Juno that Peter had never been able to experience. How did he take his coffee? What was his favorite dessert? What was his most treasured memory? Why had he left that night, and why did he die so soon?

A thousand questions that Peter Nureyev would never know the answer to. A thousand little moments he’d never experience, a thousand little stories he’d never hear. Because Juno Steel--

Because Juno Steel was dead. No matter how much he wanted things to be different, there was nothing that could be done.

Ramses came back and invited those that knew Juno to come to the columbarium for a short service to put his ashes to rest. 

Well, Jove Aramis knew him. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

They’d put him in the spot that had been paid for since—

For a while now.

Next to Ben.

Two identical little doors with identical birth dates and un-identical death dates.

Juno stood in the back, head down, blending into the shadows. Only a small group of the mourners made the journey from the hotel. Ramses, Mick, Rita. People he knew, people he didn’t. Gangsters and politicians and between them the smallest handful of normal people crying real tears.

Real tears.

For Juno Steel.

One by one they all left. Rita and Mick were the last to go. Rita, who had wailed when her favorite character died in one of her shows, was now sobbing so quietly it barely registered, her hands pressed to her mouth and her head down. Shoulders shaking. Mick seemed to be trying to comfort her. He was telling tales, it was clear from his exaggerated gestures, even if they faltered sometimes. Probably telling her about whatever stupid shit they used to get up to, but changing it so the danger was 10 times worse and Juno was 1000 times more heroic.

But they left too.

And then Juno was alone, in a great big hall in a great big building with marble floors that echoed and a thousand little doors closed on little lives. He was about to step out of the shadows to pay his respects when someone beat him to it.

A shadow peeled away from the edge of one of the walls. They had been kneeling in front of another door a ways down the hall, hunched over and leaning on a cane, assumedly visiting someone, but now they walked with quick, clipped steps straight to Juno’s grave, faster than it looked like they should be able to. Juno pressed himself further into his corner, but as the stranger walked past, he realized he didn’t need to—they were so intent he could’ve stood practically in the open without them noticing. They came to a dead halt right in from of the newly closed door and stood so still for so long Juno was afraid to breathe. They leaned on the cane so heavily it looked like they might topple forward. Juno wondered if this old timer had mistaken his grave for someone else’s.

It surprised him when the stranger took a deep, shuddering breath and straightened up.

When they leaned their cane against the wall like they’d never needed it in the first place.

When they took off their hat, revealing dark, slicked back hair.

When they spoke, in a voice that ached, that made Juno ache.

“Juno…” It echoed through the room exactly like it hadn’t echoed through that Martian tomb all those months ago. Peter Nureyev reached out to graze his fingertips against the cold metal door. He pulled back like it burned him. Juno was frozen to the spot.

“I tried to stay away. I promise you. I… I wanted to keep my promise. I need you to know that. At first, it was easy. I was angry with you. So, so angry that you would leave me like that. I would’ve left just the same if you had told me, but I would’ve been able to take my heart with me. I know why you did it. I understand—understand how hard it can be to trust someone, to really, really trust someone. But it still hurt, you brute. You impossible, incomprehensible—” he broke off, pressed a hand to his face. Was he crying? He sighed and looked up. “I am glad you’re with your brother again. It seemed like—from what I read—it seemed like you two were close. He seemed like a good person. I wish I could have met him, Juno. I wish you could have told me about him. I feel like I don’t know anything about you. Reading about you is one thing, but I wish you could’ve told me. I want to know what you think, how you feel, I want to hear you tell those stories. But now all I have is the things other people have said about you. It’s not enough, Juno, it’s not you.” He pressed his hand to the door, as if he could phase through to the ashes and hold Juno’s formless body one more time. “We had… so little time Juno. I feel as if I’ve loved you for years, but all we had was a few weeks in the dark, in pain. It’s not enough. I know why you left but I wish for all the world you hadn’t. I wish I’d broken my promise. I wish I hadn’t stayed away. I wish I hadn’t tried to make you leave. I wish, I wish, that I could’ve kept you safe.” He choked on the word safe, and Juno ached. He felt a knife twist in his throat and needles prick behind his eye. He knew exactly how Nureyev felt. He’d felt it too. “I didn’t believe it at first. I couldn’t. All this time, Juno, I’ve been surviving because it was what I did. What I’d always done. I didn’t realize until I met you that what I wanted more than anything was something or someone to live for. You reminded me that there are still people in this world that care, that try to do good. I’d pull down any of the stars from the sky if it could create the world you wanted. You’re impossible. It’s impossible that you should exist, that you should be so hopeful, so principled, in a world that never deserved it. It’s impossible that you should die there, for nothing. Please Juno, please, please just do one more impossible thing. Please come back. I didn’t know the universe had you in it until several months ago but now I can’t imagine one without you. It’s all… pointless again.”

Juno was walking before he even thought to move his feet. Hyperion City might be better off without him, but Peter Nureyev?

Peter Nureyev wasn’t.

Juno stopped, a few feet behind Nureyev, unsure what to do next. Reach out? Tap him on the shoulder, hey thanks, but I’m actually not dead after all, whoops. Nureyev’s shoulders shook. His ragged breaths bounced around the room like a rock across a pond. Just fucking do something, Steel.

He didn’t have to. The next tiny shift forward made his shoe squeak across the floor and faster than thought Nureyev whipped around, swept Juno’s feet out from under him. He landed on his side and Nureyev put a boot on his back and pushed him flat, chest on the ground with an arm pinned under him. He was winded, and unable to do anything but wheeze when Nureyev knelt on his back, put his full weight on the hand holding Juno’s free arm down, and put a knife’s point delicately under his chin. The left side of Juno’s face was pressed into the ground, he couldn’t see what was happening, couldn’t breathe. He started to panic, tried to squirm out of Nureyev’s grasp, but was clearly getting nowhere.

Nureyev leaned in. “Can’t you see I’m in mourning here? It’s a little rude to sneak up on a man while he’s vulnerable.” Juno couldn’t see the angry flash of his teeth but he could hear the near-snarl in Nureyev’s voice. “Let’s see who’s under the mask, shall we?” He traced the knife’s point slowly around Juno’s jawline and cut through the two straps on the right side of his face. The eyepatch fell away. Juno still couldn’t see, didn’t know what Nureyev was doing, what he was thinking. The knife was still next to his face, left like an afterthought. 

Nureyev hissed in a breath. His grip on the knife tightened almost imperceptibly, digging the point a little deeper into Juno’s head. Then Nureyev sighed.

“No,” he whispered, too quiet to hear if the room wasn’t so silent, “No, it’s not him. Just a trick of my mind again.”

Again?

The weight lifted from Juno’s back, the knife from his face. Before he could recover enough to breathe, he was roughly lifted to his feet and the knife was back, at his throat this time. Nureyev twisted his arm behind his back and pressed close, whispering in his ear.

“Who are you working for?”

“Nureyev—” Juno rasped, the moment before Nureyev pulled the knife in a little tighter.

“See, I don’t like that either. I’ll grant I’ve been… sloppy, of late, but that fact that you know my name means you’ve done your research… a little too thoroughly. Who are you working for?” The knife relaxed enough for a word.

“Nobody.”

“Lies again. How long have you been following me for?” He twisted Juno’s arm further, pulling him up onto his toes.

“I haven’t—” The knife drew a line of blood. Juno hissed. Nureyev faltered for just the slightest second.

“Well then. What is your story?” He loosened up, but did not let go.

“It’s me, Nureyev, it’s Juno. I didn’t die in the desert, I was picked up by Buddy Aurinko. She hired me, she brought me to a place that took out my cybernetic eye. I stayed with her because—because I figured Hyperion was better off without me. I couldn’t—I didn’t… I had to come back for my own funeral. I didn’t expect you to be here.” A pause. Nureyev must have been processing. “Peter, I’m sorry I—” Juno didn’t get to finish. The knife was gone but was replaced by Nureyev’s arm around his windpipe. Juno choked on his apology.

“Incredibly well researched. I commend you. A few mistakes, of course, but I can’t blame you for focusing too much on the trickier details and neglecting the bigger picture.” Juno grabbed at Nureyev’s arm with his free hand, trying to create space between Nureyev’s arm and his throat. “For one, there is no way to remove cybernetics, and no reason to.” Dots swam in front of Juno’s eyes. “Secondly, Buddy Aurinko has been out of the business for a decade.” It was getting harder to try to dig his fingers between them, to even feel for certain where they were. “Finally, and most damnably of all,” Juno’s head started to tilt, and Nureyev dropped the arm behind his back and pulled Juno’s forehead back onto his shoulder so he could whisper directly in his ear, “Juno Steel never called me Peter.”

So that’s how it would end, then. Killed after his own funeral, in front of his own grave, by the one person who might not have been better off without him. Juno felt darkness creeping in at the edge of his vision.

Fucking ironic.

He blacked out.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Peter held up not-Juno as he fell limp and checked his pulse. He was alive, just knocked out. He really did almost look like Juno. But, as much as he might want it to be, Juno was dead. He’d checked and doubled check on it himself. Every record, every test. The body they found in the desert was Juno’s. He’d finally succeeded at sacrificing himself for the greater good.

That idiot.

Whoever was hunting Peter sent a convincing fake though. He looked very similar to Juno, down to the scar across his nose. It seemed they tried to cover all the differences with the ridiculous backstory.

Peter propped not-Juno up against the wall and picked the eye patch off the ground. It was practically a mask, shaped faux-leather fitted to cover not-Juno’s nose and right eye. He tied it back onto not-Juno’s face and hefted him up. He tried to avoid running into people on the way out, but when it was unavoidable, he pretended to be trying to console the slumped body next to him. Most people wandering through columbariums were not the type to pry. Once they were out of the building, Peter called a cab and loaded the both of them in. He tried to keep an eye out the back window, to watch for tails, but the way Juno was slumped back… like when the attendants would drag him back into their cell in the tomb.

But this wasn’t Juno.

The hotel was in a shady enough part of town that bringing in a drunk friend didn’t attract much attention. Once back in his hotel room, Peter dropped not-Juno into the desk chair and tied his wrists to the armrests.

Then, he freaked out.

He closed himself in the bathroom and finally let his breath go uneven and the swirling thoughts in his head to surface. He leaned on the counter, tried to ground himself.

“My name is Peter Nureyev. My current alias is Jove Aramis. I am from Brahma. I am in Hyperion City, Mars. The man I have tied up out there is not Juno Steel, because Juno Steel is d—” He felt tears threaten and took a moment to compose himself. He splashed cool water from the sink on his face. “Juno Steel is dead. The man out there is a cunning fake, but a fake nonetheless. That fact that he has gone to such lengths to convince me otherwise means he has reason to get close to me. And that is never a good thing.”

Peter fixed his hair. Cleaned the blood off his knife. And waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hera Teléia - Fulfiller of prayers 
> 
> Here's the link to this chapter's art: http://specialtater.tumblr.com/post/182529075808/epitaphsepithets-chapter-2-tel%C3%A9ia-by  
> Please make sure you check it out and give it a reblog!
> 
> Can u tell that I wrote Peter's entire eulogy in one sitting before i even came up with most of the rest of the fic? bc... i did.
> 
> Anyway hit that mf comment button if I made you sad and come yell at me at my tumblr: prince-hamlet


	3. Hyperkheiria

When Juno came to, the first thing he noticed was that his head hurt like hell.

The next thing he noticed was that the rest of him hurt like hell.

The third, and most worrying thing he noticed was that he was tied up in a chair in what appeared to be a shady hotel room while Peter Nureyev sat at the edge of the bed and polished a long, thin blade.

Juno made a vain attempt to jerk out of the bonds but they were, of course, secure.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Nureyev’s tone turned Juno’s blood to ice.

“Nureyev—”

“No. My current alias is Jove Aramis, and you will refer to me as such. I don’t like you saying my name.”

“Please, you have to believe that it’s really me, I’m Juno Steel.”

“Yes, that’s certainly what you would have me believe, isn’t it? You’ve made that quite clear, but it doesn’t matter to me who you say you are. I know that you are not Juno, so attempting to use my feelings against me will not work. I would like to know who you are working for and why, and I think you should tell me soon, otherwise I might make that scar across your nose real.”

Juno thought about the knife at his throat, about being choked by Peter Nureyev, about how powerless he’d been to stop it.

“Why are you so sure?”

“Please, I checked every one of those records myself. Only one body was found, the DNA did not match Pilot, and there are traces of cybernetics in the brain. According to the reports, the alleged gangster did not have any cybernetics.”

“Maybe none visible, but—” Nureyev held up a hand and squeezed his eyes shut.

“I have already come to terms with Detective Steel’s death. I know it is your whole job, but I would advise you not to reopen those particular wounds, lest I open yours.” Nureyev stood and leaned in over the chair, pressing the edge of that knife into the bridge of Juno’s nose.

This was not going to work.

Convincing him would only end in blood, he had to find another way.

Buddy. If Juno could get Nureyev to Buddy she could confirm the story and then—

And then they could go from there.

But if he wanted to get out of this chair, he’d have to change tactics.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Not-Juno’s eye flicked away from Peter’s face. He licked his lips, and when the eye flicked back, he’s dropped that kicked puppy look the real Juno had carried and now had a more genuine look of resignation.

“I can’t tell you who I work for.” Peter sneered and pressed the knife harder. “Because I don’t really know myself.” Not-Juno’s eyes darted nervously around. “I don’t know why I’m supposed to do this, they just hired me because I looked like this Juno Steel guy. They only told me enough to keep the ruse up, but beyond that…”

Peter considered that. It made more sense, especially since he broke so easily.

“What was your goal? What do they want you to do with me now that you’ve found me?”

“They wanted me to… bring you somewhere. They said that after that I’d be paid and I shouldn’t worry about it.”

Peter sighed and put his knife away. He sat heavily on the bed. All those reminders of Juno, all leading him back here, to the funeral, to this trap. He wouldn’t be surprised if these mysterious employers had sent that news story to his comms. And this… actor, he didn’t seem dangerous, despite his outward appearance. He just seems nervous and... concerned? He probably didn’t want anything to do with this beyond whatever he’d been promised.

“What are you gonna do with me?” Not-Juno asked. Peter considered.

Outside the room, there was a commotion. Both he and not-Juno looked at the door. Peter went to it, opened it a crack and peered out, knife drawn.

Down the hall, a room service cart stood abandoned, with some of its supplies scattered on the ground. It was otherwise empty. Peter turned to glare at not-Juno.

“I think your employers might be coming to pick you up.”

Not-Juno looked panicked. “What? No. Are you sure?”

Peter peered out again. A person with a hotel apron over a floral sundress exited a room, grabbed the cart, and started right in their direction, without bothering to pick up the dropped supplies.

“Quite sure.” Peter closed and locked the sliding electronic door. He jammed a pen from off the desk into the seam between the door and its frame. It wouldn’t hold it, but it could jam it for a time. Not-Juno started really pulling on his bonds now. Peter made some quick calculations. The room was facing the back of the hotel, towards the parking lot. They were on the third floor, and with Mars’s gravity, a fall from that height might break some bones. Peter flung open the window and looked down. He could easily use the window ledges to swing down, jumpstart the convertible in the lot, and pick up the ship he’d rented. It would be an easy escape. If it weren’t for the man currently making an unsuccessful attempt at chewing through the ropes around his wrist.

Not-Juno was certainly not quite as clever as the real Juno. Peter approached the desk chair just as someone knocked on the door.

“Room service.”

Peter had a knife in his hand, casually resting next to his leg. Not-Juno stopped his futile attempt and looked between Peter’s face and Peter’s knife.

Another knock. “Room service.” More forceful this time.

Not-Juno picked over his words. “I’m not like your Juno,” he said.

“That much is obvious.”

“I mean—I’m not like the Juno you knew. I don’t want to die, Nureyev.” Not-Juno looked Peter in the eyes. With that eye that was so like Juno and so not like Juno. With that expression Peter had only seen when Juno was delirious with pain, down below the sands of the Martian desert.

Peter had been able to save Juno then.

“Please, Peter, I don’t want to die.”

Another knock, a screech of metal as the door tried to open. Time to make a decision, Peter.

Peter leaned in, knife in hand, and cut the ropes on Not-Juno’s wrists. Before Not-Juno could wipe that surprised look off his face, Peter pulled him out of the chair and toward the window. Peter practically threw him into the windowsill, leaving him leaning over the edge.

“Ladies first.”

Not-Juno’s eyes were wide. “You want me to jump?” he squeaked.

“Of course not. Grab this ledge and swing down to the next one and so on. And quickly, please.” The door screeched again. There was a crackle as the pen started to give.

“I don’t think I can—” Not-Juno hadn’t taken his eyes off the ground. It clicked.

“I still have use for you. I won’t let you fall. You’re no good to me with broken legs. I’ll be descending right next to you.” Not-Juno looked Peter in the eyes and seemed to steel his resolve. He swung a leg over the ledge and started down. Once he was through the window, Peter easily jumped out and caught himself, coming to a stop right next to Not-Juno, who had his eyes squeezed shut and his forehead pressed against the wall. His knuckles were white where they grabbed the ledge. Peter put a hand on the small of his back.

“Keep going. I won’t let you fall.”

Not-Juno nodded, and they made their way down, Peter with ease and grace, keeping a hand on Not-Juno’s back, and Not-Juno shakily, and slowly. Above them, the sound of a door opening. By the time their feet hit the ground, a woman leaned out the window and practically screamed at them. Peter grabbed Not-Juno by the scruff and started them running toward the convertible across the lot. Not-Juno shot a glance back at the sound of another pair of feet hitting the ground with a loud thump.

“Sundress?” he shouted.

“Your employer I assume,” Peter said, vaulting into the car and pulling wires from under the dash. Not-Juno jumped in and looked nervously between Peter’s hands and their oncoming attacker.

“Uh, not one of the ones in charge,” Not-Juno responded, “More like their muscle.” The car started with a jolt just as Sundress got close enough to start shooting. Peter shifted gears into third-level hover fast enough to make Not-Juno yelp. They swung out of the lot barely within the lines of the road, finally leaving Sundress behind.

Not-Juno sunk into his seat, keeping a death grip on the armrests.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Then keep it out of the car, please, I just got it.” Not-Juno shot him a look.

“Not funny.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Can’t you at least slow down?”

“Honestly, my driving is not that bad. I don’t understand why you keep complaining.”

“Keep complaining?”

Peter realized his slip. He kept his eyes firmly on the road. He didn’t want to have to see Not-Juno’s face.

“Juno… Juno complained about it too.”

“Oh. Right.”

“And we cannot slow down because carjacking is child’s play for criminals. There’s no guarantee that this Sundress woman isn’t still on our tail.” Not-Juno groaned and sunk down further into his seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hera Hyperkheiria - whose hand is above
> 
> I just want you all to know, that when u leave me a comment abt how my writing has hurt you, i only become more powerful >:3c
> 
> remember to smash that mf comment button if i made u sad, or come yell at me at prince-hamlet.tumblr.com


	4. Akráia

Nureyev parked in an alleyway so narrow he nearly scraped the side mirrors off. They had the climb out over the back of the car. Once they were on solid ground, Nureyev grabbed the back of Juno’s coat again. He glanced around the city street the alley opened out on and, apparently satisfied they hadn’t been followed, started steering Juno out of the alley and down the sidewalk.

“Wait, hold on,” Juno dug his heels in. “Where are you taking me?”

“I don’t think it is wise to tell you anything, seeing as you could still be trying to get me killed. I’m not sure I quite believe your story yet, especially since your coworker found us so easily.”

“How do I know you’re not bringing me to a more convenient place to kill me?” Juno protested.

“You don’t. I’m not giving you a choice. So, either you come along nicely, and I might be finding a cold ditch to drop you in, or you can cause a fuss and I will definitely be finding a cold ditch to drop you in. Is that clear?” Juno looked down and away. He couldn’t stand seeing the hatred in Nureyev’s eyes. “Good.”

Then Nureyev let go of the back of his coat and instead… wrapped an arm around his waist? Nureyev pulled him close and started walking. Juno froze up and suppressed the urge to return the gesture.

“As I mentioned before, my current name is Jove Aramis. Your current name is Blanche Aramis. We have just gotten married and are going on our honeymoon. We are inseparable.” Juno felt something sharp dig into his ribs where Nureyev’s hand was. “Meaning, if you don’t play nice, I will separate your soul from your body.” Nureyev glanced down at Juno. “Repeat that back to me.”

“You’re Jove Aramis, I’m Blanche, we’re on our honeymoon, and… I love you,” Juno said quietly. It was always easier to say when he didn’t have to back it up. “And you’ll kill me if I screw it up.”

Nureyev nodded, and if hearing Juno say “I love you” got to him, he didn’t let it show. They turned a few more corners and stepped into the bustling Interstellar Rental Port building. Nureyev walked them straight up to one of the reservation desks. Nureyev was all smiles, pulling Juno close as he got the clerks attention.

“Excuse me, my good sir, I have a reservation for a spaceship rental with your fine establishment.”

“Of course,” said the woman at the desk. She entered something into her computer. “Name please?”

“Jove Aramis.” The clerk typed in the information.

“Ah, yes. I see here you’ve rented a small interstellar ship.”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“This is not usually a two-person ship,” the clerk said, looking between Nureyev’s casual smile and Juno’s stiff posture.

“Not to worry! We don’t mind sharing space, now do we Blanche darling.” Nureyev smiled kindly down at Juno and pressed his blade into Juno’s ribs again. Juno tried to relax, to melt into Nureyev’s side as naturally as he did months ago.

“I’d mind not sharing space.” Juno wrapped his own arm around Nureyev’s waist. To the clerk he said, “He splurged so much on the honeymoon destination he almost forgot about the honeymoon transportation.” He rolled his eyes in fond annoyance. The clerk laughed. The blade at his side disappeared.

Nureyev signed off on the rental and the clerk directed them toward the shuttle that would take them to the ship itself. She said it the next one would take off in ten minutes and offered her congratulations.

They got on the shuttle and were strapped in. Nureyev kept a hand on Juno’s leg. It was meant to be a warning, but Juno took it as a comfort. Juno didn’t like the idea of being in a metal tube in the sky only to get into a different metal tube in the vacuum of space. The shuttle filled up and Juno tried actively not to think about flying and instead focused on the ceiling, the safety straps, the other passengers.

So, he saw her before Nureyev did.

The moment she boarded, Juno put an arm around Nureyev’s neck and pulled him in like a schmoopy, overly-clingy couple.

“Sundress just boarded,” Juno whispered into Nureyev’s ear. Nureyev hummed and tapped his fingers. He turned Juno’s head with the fingertips of his other hand to kiss his cheek. Just the little touch made Juno’s skin tingle.

“Has she seen us yet?” Nureyev replied against his cheek. Juno nuzzled into Nureyev’s neck.

“If she hasn’t, she will soon.”

Nureyev tapped his fingers again, taking in the situation. The seats were arranged like a bus, facing forward. Sundress would have been seated and buckled in towards the back. The only way out would mean passing her, and even if she hadn’t already seen them, she would when they tried to leave. Juno didn’t dare look around the back of his seat. He hoped that Nureyev could pull another escape.

The back doors sealed shut. The intercom announced they would be taking off in two minutes. The clerk said the trip only took ten minutes.

“N—Jove,” Juno started. Nureyev shushed him.

“I’m thinking.”

The shuttle pulled away from the port.

“Jove.”

“I’m thinking.” Nureyev’s eyes darted around the cabin, at the faces of each of the attendants, each of the passengers.

The shuttle gained speed, and slowly, slowly started to lift off the ground. Juno’s stomach lurched. He clung tighter to Nureyev’s arm, tried not to think about the wheels leaving the ground, the shuttle gaining altitude. He felt Nureyev turn to look at him. He didn’t care in that moment if Nureyev thought he was crazy or thought he was evil, he just cared that Nureyev was there. He was something to cling to.

He’d said, “I won’t let you fall.” Juno tried to focus on that.

It just about worked.

“My, can you feel that? We must be getting very high up now,” Nureyev commented.

“What?”

“This is certainly faster than I imagined. We must be going incredibly fast. Why, Blanche, just look out the window here. See, you can’t even make out the shape of cars from this high up.” Juno felt like he was going to be sick.

“Stop it.”

“You know I’ve always wondered what it would be like to fall from a height like this. Can you imagine, Blanche? Like a very steep roller coaster, I’d imagine, except that stomach drop, that sinking feeling doesn’t stop.” Nureyev chuckled. “At least, not for a while. Not until you hit the ground.”

Juno had wondered that, unfortunately, and now he was wondering it very hard. His breath started coming in shallow, ragged gasps. He couldn’t stop imagining the sensation of falling, and the unnatural feeling of the shuttle’s ascent.

“Did you know, Blanche, that with Mars’s thin atmosphere, your terminal velocity is actually surprisingly high compared to planets like Earth.”

“Please. Stop.” Juno felt like he was going to be sick, like he already was, like the world around him was buzzing, like he couldn’t see straight.

“These shuttles truly are a feat of engineering. Why, even one little malfunction could send this whole thing crashing down.”

Juno wasn’t sure when he’d let go of Nureyev but he had. Now he was pulling at the criss-crossing straps on his chest. They were too tight, he couldn’t breathe, why’d the make them so goddamn tight. It felt like the shuttle was in a tailspin but he was the only one who could feel it. Nureyev leaned in.

“How many parachutes do you think they have?” Nureyev laughed, low and cold. It turned Juno’s blood to ice. “Do you really think a flimsy piece of cloth could save you at this altitude?”

Juno physically flinched. He fisted a hand in Nureyev’s shirt and pushed weakly. He put his head between his legs and tried not to retch. Distantly he could hear Nureyev, now speaking loud enough for others to hear.

“Oh heavens! Blanche, darling, are you alright…No, he’s never been good with flying, I’m afraid… He’ll be fine, I’m sure, once we’re out of the shuttle… Would you? That would be perfect, just perfect. The sooner we can get him out of here, the sooner he’ll be better.”

There were hands on his back, fingertips brushing the hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead. Someone made him sit up, someone pushed a plastic cup into his hands. Juno kept his eye squeezed shut. He felt the shuttle change acceleration. It felt like it was tipping, it felt like it was falling, it felt like—

“We’re landing,” Nureyev whispered in his ear. It made Juno want to crawl out of his skin. “They’re letting us off first, but we have to move quickly. Follow my lead.” Nureyev’s hand closed around Juno’s wrist. Juno tried to pull away. “Remember what I said about playing nice,” Nureyev hissed.

Juno tried to focus, to control his breathing. What was it that Ben told him to do? Ground himself, focus on the senses.

Five you can see. Four you can feel. Three you can hear. Two you can smell. One you can taste.

He could see Sundress as they passed her, filled with rage and straining against the shuttle’s straps.

He could see the platform, now, with ships around the edges and empty space above. He could feel Nureyev’s arm around him, pulling him forward.

He could see the ship they were heading for, small and silver, sleek. He could feel the floor pounding under his feet as they started running. He could hear shouting from behind them.

He could see how close they were to the ship, the airlock doors, then he could only see the ground when he tripped. He could feel Nureyev trying to pull him back up to his feet. He could hear the first gunshot whizz above them. He could smell the static-burn of the blast.

He could see Sundress, now that Nureyev had him up and turned around, and she was advancing, gun drawn. He could feel Nureyev’s chest against his back, Nureyev’s knife against his throat. He could hear Nureyev shout, “Put the gun down or I’ll kill your precious little copy.” He could smell, faintly, Nureyev’s cologne; sweet, otherworldly, nauseating. He could taste the blood in the back of his throat.

And he knew something that Nureyev didn’t—using him as a human shield, or a hostage, or collateral wouldn’t work.

Because she was here to kill Juno Steel.

She fired, and Juno didn’t need to focus to see, feel, hear, smell, or taste that she shot him directly in the bad shoulder. He screamed. Nureyev went from restraining him to holding him up in one not-quite-smooth movement and booked it for the door. Another shot, the door opened, shouting, the door closed, a door unsealed, banging, a door resealed, the floor.

Juno was on the floor. He vaguely registered that they were in the ship and Nureyev was flicking controls and pressing buttons. Juno had his back to the wall, and the lights were too bright, and he hurt. The ship lurched. He felt dizzy. He felt sick. He hurt.

And then the ship lurched again, and the humming around him reached a crescendo, and everything moved in a sickening way that it really shouldn’t be able to.

And then he blacked out.

Again.

Fucking perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hera Akráia - of the heights
> 
> Anyone here in the Les Mis fandom back in the day? I've been trying to decide if Peter is a charming man capable of being terrible or a terrible man capable of being charming


	5. Pais

Once the ship had set its course and started to warp space around them, Peter took stock of the situation. He would have to abandon this ship and the identity attached to it as soon as possible or it would be easy for the authorities to track it. They were safe until the moment the ship came to a standstill, which meant he had to have a plan by the time that happened. Currently, they were headed for a section of near-empty space within spitting distance of three half-settled solar systems, which gave them options. The trip would take about three days.

In the meantime, Juno.

Not-Juno, that is. Peter looked back at him, leaning against the wall, unconscious. The bleeding from his shoulder had slowed but he was starting to look pale. It was clear that his employers no longer found him useful now that his disguise had been seen through, so he’d be no good as collateral. However, that may mean he’d be willing to help take them down. He must know something about their movements, their base of operations--

The ship jostled slightly and he groaned. He was in pain.

Before Peter even stopped to think he was out of the pilot’s seat and looking for a first-aid kit. Not-Juno would be no good to him dead after all, and he didn’t have any other leads to go on. When he returned with the kit, he set to work. Peter gently pulled away the jacket from Not-Juno’s shoulder. The blood had already started to dry, and peeling it away drew another little groan from Not-Juno. Underneath he was wearing a thick, dark shirt obviously with some kind of extra protection to back up his wasteland backstory. Peter cut it open from collar to sleeve and tried to separate the blood-covered cloth from blood-covered skin. As he cleaned away the blood, he tried not to think about the last time he had to clean away Juno’s blood. All those nights where Juno would be returned to their cell in the martian tomb half-conscious and covered in blood, and all Peter could do was use a little bit of their drinking water and the lining of his blazer to clean his face and wait for him to wake up.

Once the blood was clear, Peter could see that the wound was not as deep as it could’ve been, and it missed anything vital. It bisected a large raised scar. That was… new.

No, not new. 

Peter looked at the pale, clammy face of Not-Juno, and reminded himself that this was not the man he loved. 

Not-Juno’s eyelid flickered. He’d be awake soon. Peter set to work. He poured rubbing alcohol on a gauze pad and cleaned the wound. Not-Juno woke up halfway through. His eye flicked over the details of the ship before slowly turning to Nureyev. 

“How long was I out this time?” It has only been a few hours since Peter had knocked him out in the columbarium, but it felt like longer.

“Only a few minutes,” Peter replied.

“Minutes? But…where...” Not-Juno sat up a little and looked around with more purpose. He seemed to be trying to fight through the fogginess. Peter poured rubbing alcohol on a new gauze pad and put a hand on Not-Juno’s chest to keep him still while he continued to work on cleaning the wound.

“We’re in the shuttle I rented, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.” The moment he touched the gauze to the wound, Not-Juno cried out and jerked away, grabbing Peter’s wrist with his good hand.

“Get the hell off me.” Not-Juno had surprisingly good grip, even though he didn’t seem strong enough to get away.

“Stop. I’m trying to help.” Not-Juno gave up on Peter’s hand and focused on trying to push away his face. “This is ridiculous, stop.” 

Not-Juno finally succeeded in forcing Peter back enough so that he could scramble up and try to get away. He only made it a few steps before nearly collapsing. He clutched at his injured shoulder. 

“What are you trying to accomplish?” Peter said, exasperated.

“To get—“ Not-Juno propped himself up on one of the seats at the helm, “away,” he panted and leaned heavily on the chair as he slipped something from his sleeve into his hand. “From you.” He held the little switchblade in his hand as menacingly as he could considering the circumstances.

Peter sighed.

“I know that you’re confused, but we are currently on a ship in ftl travel between solar systems. You cannot leave until we stop.” Peter stood and moved a little closer, hands up.

“I don’t care,” Not-Juno swiped at him ineffectually. “Stay the hell away from me.”

Peter stood down. He had to admit it hurt to hear that in Juno’s voice, even if Juno wasn’t the one saying it.

“I’m just trying to help. That wound in your shoulder needs attention.”

“I’ll take care of it myself, thanks.”

“In your current state? You can barely hold a knife, let alone a surgical needle.”

“I’d rather that than let you touch me again. Not after that.” That rasp in his voice was so familiar, and so unfamiliar. He looked shaken, hurt. It was a copy of a look Peter had seen before.

“I’m sorry about that. It was the best way I could think of to get off the shuttle before she did.”

“You could’ve told me, I could’ve—“

“I know. I wasn’t sure if I could trust you. I didn’t realize you would also be a target. I certainly didn’t think she’d shoot through you to get to me.” Not-Juno swayed and blinked a little too hard. Usually when Juno had looked like that it meant he was about to pass out. The wound in Not-Juno’s shoulder was still bleeding sluggishly. That stupid part in the back of Peter’s head that was fooled told him to act fast before Juno got worse. This was just like when Juno would get stubborn and refuse any help.

“I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t fix it, but I am sorry. But now we know that both of us are targets. If we want to survive this, we’re going to have to work together. That starts with you not bleeding to death in this ship.”

Not-Juno considered. He shifted his grip on his switchblade. Peter took a few cautious steps forward. Not-Juno lifted the blade to chest level, but his grip was weak, and it seemed less like a threat and more like a barrier. 

“Well?” 

Not-Juno shook his head like he was trying to clear it. “I-I can’t think…” He wobbled.

“That would be the blood loss.” Peter took another step forward, palms up. Not-Juno’s eyes were unfocused, and the hand holding the knife had the slightest tremor. He let Peter take it out of his hand with minimal resistance. He let Peter take his weight and lead him to the one bunk. If he even stayed conscious after that, he didn’t resist Peter cleaning and dressing his wound either. Just to be safe, Peter bound Not-Juno’s arm to his chest to avoid him tearing the wound open in the night.

Now he was left with nothing to do, and no heading. He could wake Not-Juno and grill him for his employers’ hideout, but… The creases on his forehead had finally smoothed out. An imitation of the only times Juno had looked even close to “peaceful.” That foolish part of his mind said let him sleep, and he gave in. Even knowing he was a fake couldn’t force him to break the momentary peace. 

They still had time after all.

 

Hours later, Peter was awoken by something hitting him in the chest. He had fallen asleep in the chair in front of the control panel, looking out on the strange warped space ahead of them. Standing over him was Not-Juno, face inscrutable. He had gotten out of the tatters of his shirt and cleaned up, and now stood with his jacket around his shoulders and his bad arm still bound to his chest.

“I uh… I made breakfast.” 

Peter looked down at his lap. A packet of rehydrated pancakes was warm and open. Not-Juno had his own in his hand.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Thanks for uh… not letting me bleed out.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

“Don’t think this means I trust you, though.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of that either.”

Not-Juno snorted a laugh at that, and Peter quickly tamped down on the warm part of his chest that immediately conjured all the times he had seen Juno laugh. Not-Juno looked out the window.

“Where are we headed?”

“Nowhere, currently. I think our best course of action is to track down your bosses’ headquarters. I don’t suppose you know where that is?”

Not-Juno frowned, thoughtfully.

“I think I heard them say something about meeting a contact in a place called the City of Lights, on a planet with two suns. That’s all I heard.”

“To the City of Lights, then.”

 

Not-Juno’s new heading added another day to the journey. In a one-bunk ship, it was impossible to avoid each other, as much as they tried. They took turns sleeping in the bunk and sitting at the helm. At first they tried to eat meals alone and in silence, but the farthest they could get was about ten feet away, and ignoring someone at the distance is a little ridiculous. 

They started with Not-Juno telling Peter everything he knew about his employers (admittedly, very little) and naturally merged into regular conversation. Peter would tell him stories while changing the bandages and applying fast healing salve to distract him from the pain. Not-Juno would re-tell an old friend’s tall tales over rehydrated spaghetti bolognese. The rapport came surprisingly easy. Not-Juno had nowhere near Juno’s wit and humor, but he was funny in his own right.

Even so, everytime Peter saw him out of the corner of his eye it was another punch in the gut. Every time he winced when Peter changed his bandages, Peter thought about cleaning Juno’s wounds, the brave face he’d put on. Every time he smiled, or even laughed, Peter thought of all the times he’d made Juno smile.

And all the times he didn’t.

He would give anything in the world to see that smile again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hera Pais - the maiden
> 
> To those of u who thought that Peter would figure it out in this chapter: In 5/11? Oh absolutely not. It's going to get worse before it gets better.
> 
> That being said here's a little bit of a fluffier chapter, or about as fluffy as I get.


	6. Megalostheneos

They got lucky, really, with the location. Their rental ship would come apart if they tried to steer it into a real atmosphere, and it would be harder to get out of a high altitude port unnoticed. The City of Lights, however, was not in a real atmosphere. Perched as it was on the edge of an eternal storm raging across a gas giant, it was already high altitude, protected by a solid dome with walls nearly 100 feet thick. It was easy enough to slip in through one of the airlocks with the rest of the planetary traffic and get by with their forged papers declaring them locals visiting from another high flying storm city. From there they easily parked in a junkyard and slipped the worker a few creds to have their ship destroyed first, no questions asked. 

Not-Juno stayed so jumpy through the whole process that you’d think he’d never committed a crime before. He seemed to think they were about 10 seconds from getting caught by the police or even Sundress herself, as unlikely as that was.

Before they were even a few blocks away, Not-Juno seemed to want to go right to business.

“Alright, all I know is that the guy’s name is Caze Banks, and he had some kind of base of operations in Lower South Side. He’s connected with the black market stuff, so if I can find some small time dealer maybe--”

“Not looking like that you won’t,” Peter cut in.

“Excuse me?” Not-Juno looked down at himself. The sling was off and his shoulder was mostly healed, but he was wearing one of Peter’s shirts and the rest of his heavy wasteland gear. “What’s wrong with how I look?”

“Look around.” Peter gestured at the few people out walking between the few businesses on the block.

“I… am?” 

“What do you notice about them?”

“...Nothing?”

“Exactly. They look like they are normal people who live in the city going for a nice stroll. You, on the other hand, look like a vagabond from the wastes.”

“So? We’re supposed to blend in with the criminals in this city, not the dog walkers.”

Peter tsked. “Just because we must cavort with back-alley dealers does not mean we have to dress like them. Besides, I have a reputation on this planet that I would like to uphold.” Peter started off down the street. “Come along, Not-Juno.”

Not-Juno sputtered. “But Lower South Side is that way.”

“Yes, but my tailor is this way. Would you prefer to be alone in a strange city sticking out like a sore thumb? Sundress may have figured out our heading already, and you are currently a very easy target.”

Peter continued on his way and counted three seconds before Not-Juno caught up with him, grumbling under his breath about “pretentious-ass master thieves.”

They strode into the Silver Stitch accompanied by the tinny recording of a bell. Despite the busy street outside and the lovely pieces in the storefront window, the shop was empty. The mannequins in the window served the double purpose of shielding the inside of the shop from prying eyes. The front room was nicely decorated in rich, tasteful colors, and contained only a few sparse racks of clothing and an unoccupied counter. Not-Juno seemed relieved to be away from the stares he’d been getting from passers-by, but it only relaxed his shoulders by the smallest fraction.

After a moment, an older woman bustled out of the back room. She broke into a smile when she saw Peter.

“Ah, Balthazar, how are you? It’s been ages since you’ve disgraced my humble little shop.” 

“Ms. Holt, how lovely to see you again.” Peter talked in the quick, clipped tones of Balthazar Shale. Cold and business-like. But he spared the hint of a smile and a kiss on the back of the hand for his favorite tailor. “Allow me to introduce you to my apprentice, Hera Chere.”

“Apprentice?” Not-Juno grumbled. 

“Yes, Hera, I thought we agreed that term was preferable to ‘intern’?” Peter shot Not-Juno a warning glance. He took the cue.

“I still think it’s patronizing.” He held out his hand for Mrs. Holt to shake. “It’s nice to meet you. He talks very highly of you.” 

Mrs. Holt laughed. “Oh does he now? And yet its been so long since I’ve seen you, Balthazar, what brings you back here?”

“An emergency, I’m afraid. As you can see my apprentice here has absolutely no concept of style. I can’t get him to stop dressing like a vagabond, but perhaps you can.” 

Much to his obvious discomfort, Mrs. Holt immediately began sizing Not-Juno up. “Well, off with it then, let me see what I am working with.” she gestured to him.

“What?” Not-Juno squeaked.

“She means your coat, Hera. Here, allow me.” Peter went to remove the jacket, but the moment he touched Not-Juno’s shoulders, he flinched away like he’d been burned. 

“I can handle it myself, thanks,” he snapped. Even after three days, he still kept his distance from Peter except for when his bandages needed changing. He reluctantly took off his jacket and placed it on a nearby hook on the wall. He was practically half his usual height with how much he slouched, clearly uncomfortable with Mrs. Holt’s prying eyes. She gently herded him into the back room for his fitting and left Peter to sit and open his comms. A few well placed messages would be all he needed. 

When Not-Juno walked out of the back room followed by a beaming Mrs. Holt, Peter did a triple-take. He was in a close-fitting, feminine suit, fashionable but understated. He fiddled with the cuffs but was finally standing up straight. He must be taller than the real Juno by a few inches at least. The large half-mask eyepatch was replaced with a small black one embroidered with a rose. He actually cleaned up very nicely. It was easy now to see the little differences between him and the real Juno. Not-Juno had slightly different features: a sharper jaw, wider eye, a different curve to his cheek. He looked less like the Juno that Peter had known and more like that old police academy picture of a bright-eyed young Juno with his sharp dress uniform and close-cropped hair. Maybe not-Juno was younger, too, and they’d dirtied him up so much to make him look older.

“Well?” said Not-Juno, somewhere between impatient and nervous. Peter realized he’d been staring and turned back to his comms, clearing his throat.

“It will suffice.”

He heard Mrs. Holt whisper, “That means he really likes it, dear,” to Not-Juno. Mrs. Holt bagged the fitted articles Not-Juno wasn’t wearing and brought it to the counter for Peter to pay. 

“Mrs. Holt I can’t thank you enough. Maybe there’s hope for him yet.” He placed the creds into her hand with a little extra for his favorite tailor.

“Nonsense, he was a delight to work with.” She leaned in conspiratorially, “I approve.”

Peter raised his eyebrows at this, but she probably just meant his choice in apprentices. Not-Juno was on the other side of the shop, busy fiddling with his collar. 

“Stop playing with it.” Peter took the bag and started out the shop.

“What, it’s tight.”

“Yes, it’s supposed to be tight, that’s the style.” 

When they got out onto the street, Not-Juno glanced around while Peter hailed a cab. He seemed to relax when he noticed that the eyes of passerby passed right over him like another part of the scenery.  
“Maybe you had a point,” he muttered as they stepped into the cab. Peter smiled as he gave the address to the driver. “Did you find Caze?”

“No. My contact here has heard of him, but not for a while. He did, however, tell me where to find an associate of Caze’s.”

 

 

Not-Juno grabbed the man by the collar and dragged him over the counter of his shitty little pawn shop.

Peter laid a gentle hand on Not-Juno’s shoulder, holding him back. “Now, I will ask again. Do you know who I am?”

“You’re Balthazar Shale,” the man spat, “the smuggler.”

“Exactly.” Balthazar gave a rare smile, too-wide and unsettling. “Now, an associate of mine told me you have ties in the black market.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Balthazar sighed, then snapped. “Hera.”

Hera, his impassive bodyguard, pulled the man up to his knees and pulled back for a punch.

“Wait!” 

Balthazar held up a hand, pausing Hera mid-swing. The man’s eyes flicked between the two of them.

“I don’t know what you want with me. I’m just small-time, I swear, just a middle man!”

“Oh I don’t doubt that,” Balthazar gave a dismissive wave and Hera dropped the man and returned to his side. “But my business is not with you. I am looking for a man named Caze Banks.”

“Caze?” the man sputtered. “Shit, is it crazy week or something? You’re the second group of assholes the ask about him.”

Balthazar turned thoughtful. “Who was the other group?”

“I don’t know, they didn’t give names. Two ladies and their bodyguard.”

Peter and Not-Juno exchanged a look. Not-Juno gave a subtle nod.

“Well, where is Caze?”

“Dead. He’s been dead for two years.”

“And the other group, where did they go?”

“I don’t know.”

Balthazar hummed. “Hera, break his fingers. See if that jogs his memory.” Hera struggled with the man for a minute and ended with his hand in a joint lock, slowly bending his fingers back.

“Alright! Alright! I heard them say something about going to Anxos, one of the cities on New Cali.” When Hera did not stop, he tapped out, “they mentioned Lux! I think it’s a nightclub there, they wanted to talk to the owner.” Balthazar waved a hand and Hera dropped the man, who carefully flexed his fingers.

Balthazar slipped a couple thousand creds into the man’s shirt pocket. “A pleasure doing business with you.”

The man pulled out the creds in surprise as Peter turned to leave, Not-Juno in tow.

“You know,” the man said, stopping them at the door, “if you’re looking for the other group, you might want to be quick about it. There was already another woman in here looking for them.”

“What was she wearing?”

“I don’t know, a dress? Like a casual, like--”

“Sundress?” Not-Juno asked.

“Yeah, exactly. You working with her?”

“Not anymore,” Not-Juno pushed his way out the door.

Not-Juno had actually started to look relaxed on the way to the pawn shop, but all of that was gone now. He kept glancing between the buildings and the rooftops as if he expected Sundress to drop onto them from above.

“Excellent idea with the ‘good cop violent cop’ act. Truly inspired.” Peter nudged Not-Juno. “Calm down. We have a lead, and it seems Sundress is trying to catch up with your employers, not us.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Not-Juno muttered. “She’s not the type to give up like that. And if she came here that means she knew our next move. She’s already a step ahead of us.”

“Then we’ll move quickly. New Cali is in this system, so we can take an overnight shuttle there and be in and out in no time. Remember, this Sundress woman is simply an arm of your organization. Once we take out the head, all will be resolved.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Not-Juno muttered.

Behind them, a shadow peeled away from an alley wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hera Megalostheneos - of great strength
> 
> Another pretty short chapter before shit starts to get fucked again. Oh look Peter and Juno are becoming friendly again. it would be a shame if something were to... happen to that


	7. Zygia

They had a private compartment on the shuttle. The shuttle was one of those huge, multilevel ones, but their room was cramped, just two bunks, a couch, and a small table. Nureyev sat back on the couch and flipped through the new identity from the duffle bag he’d picked up from his drop point. Juno rooted through his own duffle bag, looking at the supplies Nureyev deemed essential enough to put in an emergency duffle bag. Rations, a toothbrush, two knives, a notebook, a burner comms, two sets of clothes, PJs, two pens (one normal and one decoy, filled with poison), a sewing kit, a poison kit, a makeup kit, and a pack of condoms. Juno unpacked it and repacked it along with the clothes from Mrs. Holt. 

“You never told me your name,” Nureyev said. Juno looked up from his careful folding, but Nureyev was still making careful notes on the papers in front of him.

“Yeah. I didn’t.”

Nureyev raised an eyebrow at him. He went back to packing. Nureyev sighed. “Well I can’t very well keep calling you Not-Juno.”

“You could just call me Juno.” He didn’t look up to see Nureyev’s expression. He didn’t know what it would be, and didn’t particularly want to find out. Nureyev tapped his pen.

“How about we keep Hera then? I think it suits you.”

“Isn’t that the goddess that was just a cheap imitation of Juno? Is that why?”

“Actually I think Juno was based on Hera. But I meant because Hera was known to be a hot-head, and fiercely protective.” When Juno just scoffed he added, “You’re not a cheap imitation. You’re just… different. A different person.” Juno sat back on his heels. Nureyev was looking out their small window looking at the unmoving stars. 

“What did you even like about him?” He said it half to himself, and the moment he said it he regretted it.

“Hm?”

Just take it back, Steel, it’s better not knowing. “What did you see in Juno Steel? Seemed like he was an ass to me.”

“Don’t you dare,” Nureyev snapped. “Don’t you dare say that. Juno Steel saved my life on more than one occasion. He would’ve died a hundred times over to save the world if he could. He was the last person in this trash heap of a universe who actually cared about people. He was selfless, and intelligent, and skilled. He was the first person in decades to look through the mask and see me. I loved him. I love him.”

“It sounds like you’ve put him on a pedestal. How long did you know him? A few weeks? You didn’t love him, you loved an image of him that you created. That’s not love, Nureyev, that’s infatuation-- hell, that's just a passing fancy"

Nureyev stood. His face was unreadable, several emotions fighting like a roiling sea behind the impassive mask of a master thief. “If you need me, I’ll be on the dining floor.” He left and slammed the door behind him. 

It was probably for the best. Juno had noticed how Nureyev looked at him. He didn’t like “Hera” even half as much as he’d liked Juno. Or at least, thought he’d like Juno. When they caught up with Buddy and she straightened everything out, he didn’t want Nureyev to be disappointed that he’d been traveling with “his” Juno the whole time, and how underwhelming the experience was. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

Peter was nursing a coffee on the dining floor, seated at one of the two-person tables by the windows. Who did Hera think he was, talking about Juno like that? He’d never even met Juno. But, he was at least a little bit right. Peter really didn’t know Juno that well. There was no way of knowing if they would’ve worked out or not. But his feelings were real. And it wasn’t like he thought Juno was perfect. Far from it, he loved Juno because of all of his flaws, not despite them. 

A waitress set a glass of whiskey on his table.

“Ah, I didn’t order this.” He tried to hand it back, but the waitress shook her head.

“Someone sent it over.”

Perhaps it was an olive branch from Hera. It was Juno’s favorite drink after all. Nureyev scanned the floor but it was large enough and crowded enough that he couldn’t see Hera. He raised the glass in a cheers anyway before taking a sip.

The moment the drink hit his lips he knew it was poisoned. The strong taste of the whiskey couldn’t quite cover the taste of the poison. He pretended to take a sip and set the drink down again. He waved over the waitress again.

“I’m sorry, who sent this drink?”

“Woman in a nice summer dress, right over,” she turned to point, “Oh, I guess she left.”

“Thank you.” 

Sundress was here, and knew he was here. She had been in this very room, but hadn’t struck. There was the poison, of course, but she seemed like more of a brute force kind of woman, and she was certainly not afraid to cause a scene. So why wait?

Peter took another fake sip from the whiskey.

She didn’t first appear until after Peter had figured out Hera’s ruse. She wasn’t just here for him, she was here to tie up loose ends.

She didn’t know where Hera was.

In a ship this large, it would take more time than she had to find him. She expected Peter to recognize the poison. She expected him to lead her right back to their compartment. 

Peter reached for his comms, but he’d left it in the compartment. He checked the clock on the wall. Eight hours until they reached Anxos. He just had to waste her time for eight hours. 

Easy.

 

~*~*~*~

 

When Nureyev didn’t come back in an hour, Juno figured he was pissed.

When Nureyev didn’t come back in two hours, Juno figured he was really pissed. 

When Nureyev didn’t come back in four hours, Juno figured he was either dead and shoved in a coat closet or currently tied to a chair in some dark corner being tortured. 

That, or he was really goddamn pissed, but hey, better safe than sorry.

Juno pocketed a knife, the burner comms, and both pens from his duffle bag. He left his blaster. Too much of a risk to shoot on a ship when you couldn’t shoot straight. He checked the hall before sliding out of their compartment. No sign of Sundress, just a few people going to and from their own little rooms. Juno took the elevator down to the dining floor and stood in the shadows against one wall, occasionally asking passing waiters if they’d seen a man fitting Nureyev’s description. Slim chance, but he had no other leads. He got lucky, the third one he asked actually recognized him.

“Oh yeah, that guy. I remember he had nice earrings.”

“Is he still here?”

“No, he left a while ago.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah, but one woman did send him a drink while he was here.”

“Don’t tell me she was wearing a sundress.”

The waiter smiled sadly. “I’m afraid so.” She patted his shoulder reassuringly. “I hope you catch them.”

“Me too,” Juno muttered. If Nureyev left alone, why didn’t he come back to the room? He must’ve known it was Sundress that sent him the drink, so it didn’t make sense for him to keep wandering the ship. 

Unless…

Unless he was trying to keep her busy. Nureyev wasn’t her target, not really. She was waiting for him to lead her back to Juno. 

So if Juno were Nureyev, where would he go next?

They weren’t on the observation deck or the casino deck, although one of the employees said someone matching Nureyev’s description had been asked to leave for being drunk and getting belligerent with one of the staff. That didn’t sound like him.

What’s your game Nureyev?

He figured it out when he got back on the elevator. 

“Hey wait,” he called to the employee, stopping the elevator doors. “The ‘E’ button in the elevator, with the keycard lock, what’s it for?”

“It’s the electrical floor. It contains all of the controls and machinery for the ship. Don’t worry, it’s all automated, hardly anyone goes down there.”

Perfect place to set a trap.

“Who has access?”

“Most of the senior staff have their own… hey, where’s my card?” 

Juno was already in the elevator on his way to the dining car.

It only took a few minutes at the bar to spot one of the managers taking a short break. A few minutes after that, he was buying her a drink. Next thing you know, they’re in a closet and Juno had his hands on a keycard. He pulled back, pretended to be wracked with guilt for cheating on his husband, and fled. 

The electrical floor was dark and quiet. The only noise was the steady hums and beeps of machinery and the sound of the air vents working double time to keep the room cool. There was minimal lighting, just one small light every couple of feet. The room was as big as all the other floors, but the massive servers and gadgets and other… things blocked the view so much that Juno could only see about five feet in every direction. It was a maze and at the center was a monster. He just had to find her before she found him. 

Juno hugged the wall to the left of the elevator and walked along the outer edge of the room, trying to keep his footsteps silent while listening for signs of other people. He was starting to think he’d misjudged Nureyev’s plan when he heard a thud not too far from him. 

Juno took a deep breath and made his way into the center of the room, bathed in the low light from above and the blinking of multicolored LEDs on every side.

So, he didn’t see the thing on the floor until it was too late. He hit the ground with a hollow bang that echoed through the room. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

Peter had been trying to construct a trap for Sundress, but he wasn’t exactly prepared, and it was difficult to construct anything while being hunted. But that sound hadn’t come from Sundress, and it definitely didn’t come from him.

Peter held his breath in the dead silence that followed and hoped that it was just a particularly clumsy employee, and that Hera wasn’t as stupid and self-sacrificing as the real Juno. Slowly, he heard the scrape of Sundress’s boots as she turned on her heel and changed course. The game just changed. Not cat and mouse, but keep away. 

Peter dropped the cords he was using as ropes and smoothly dropped himself from the top of the server he was perched on. He had to find Hera before Sundress did.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Juno had tripped over a… handle? It was hard to see in the dark, but it looked like a handle just jutting out of the floor in a seemingly random spot. When Juno pulled on it, an entire panel of the floor came up with it, revealing a sea of wires underneath the floor. The panel itself was heavy, but otherwise no different from any other part of the floor. There wasn’t room inside to hide in, but maybe he could get Sundress to trip on it, buy them some time. Juno set the panel down and examined the handle. Completely smooth except for one button on the top. When he pressed it, the handle came away like it had never been attached at all. 

A handle that can remove any piece of the floor.

All he had to do was trick Sundress into falling in.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Closer to the center now, Peter climbed on top of one of the server racks. He kept low and scanned the pathways he could see.

He nearly gave up when he saw Hera for just a moment, passing between two rows and dangerously close to where he last saw Sundress. It only took him a minute to drop to the ground and catch up to Hera. Peter ended up behind him, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Before he could talk, Peter put a hand over his mouth.

“It’s me, Hera, relax.” He looked down to see a knife pointed at his stomach. “And put that away.” He took his hand away.

“I thought you were--”

“I know.” Peter glanced around and started leading them towards the back of the room. “I’m trying to trap her down here. I’m not sure if I can take her in hand to hand combat in such close quarters, but if we destroy the elevator button as we leave, she’ll be stuck until the next time an employee comes down.”

“So shouldn’t we be going towards the elevator?”

“Not yet, she’s staying between us and the exit. I’ve been trying to rig up a way to trap her, but…”

“I think I can help.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

She had just heard them. They were both down here. No more tracking, no more hunting. Soon enough the little rats would back themselves into a corner and she would get her revenge. 

She walked slowly and deliberately down the narrow corridors of the electronics floor. She’d already made sure there was no way out but past her. 

Soon enough they’d try something. They were clever, but she had something they didn’t.

Rage.

She heard it again. The faintest hint of voices rising above the steady thrum of technology. She changed course. As she got closer she could make out some of the words.

“...should have waited in the room.”

“The hell was I supposed to do, twiddle my thumbs and wait for her to kill you?”

“Keep your voice down…”

She smiled. They wouldn’t even know she was there.

She tracked their voices through the stacks. They were keeping still. They thought they’d found a place where they can hide from her.

There is no place in the universe where they can hide from her.

“...slip past her...”

“...has to be another way…”

“...new plan, this won’t work…”

She pinpointed them. Just down the hall and around the corner. She drew her blaster and set it to kill. She wouldn’t aim for any vitals. Not yet. No, no, not yet. They were going to suffer. She crept forward, guided by their petty argument seeping through the server racks. This was too easy.

Wait.

It was too easy.

She had that thought the moment before her foot didn’t land on solid ground, sending her sprawling forward. Her gun skittered across the ground and she saw what was actually around the corner: one half of a comms, speakerphone on. 

 

~*~*~*~

 

“Now!”

When they heard her hit the ground, they both started pulling on the cords looped over the pipes in the ceiling and attached to the loosened server rack. It toppled over onto the adjacent stack, not crushing Sundress, but making it harder to dig herself out. Both of them dropped the cables and ran toward the exit, followed only by Sundress’s enraged screams.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Hera panted.

“Try not to celebrate until after we’ve actually escaped.”

They found the elevator and Hera alternated between repeatedly pressing the button and glancing behind them for any signs of Sundress. Clanging sounds echoed from deeper in the room, but their sources we’re impossible to pinpoint. Peter set up the other half of the comms’s emergency procedure #47.

“Come on, come on,” Hera pressed the button another five times, as if that would call the elevator any faster.

“Stop fiddling with it. And step aside.” Peter nudged Hera out of the way and attached the comms to the outside of the elevator call button.

“I thought you said you were going to disable it.”

“I am.”

“I don’t see how--”

The elevator pinged open. Hera immediately got in and pressed the compartment floor button seven times. Peter tapped the last few settings on the comms and entered the elevator. The doors closed.

“So what the hell was that supposed to do?”

“One moment.” Hera rolled his eyes in frustration. Two seconds after the elevator started rising, it was shaken by a small, localized explosion. Hera gaped at Peter.

“Does that answer your question?”

“I suddenly have so, so many more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hera Zygia - protector of the marriage commitment
> 
> Hey for real, thanks to everyone who's left comments. It's really kept me going and i appreciate all of u. I know i don't respond to them much but just know i've probably read ur comment several times while grinning like a little goblin
> 
> All shout out to my girlfriend for actually having an answer when I asked "hey how would you trap someone using only stuff found in a server room?"


	8. Potnia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is art for this chapter done by the lovely lucarosearts on tumblr and instragram. It's so so so fantastic, make sure you click the link in the end notes and give it a reblog.

Duke Rose grinned as he won yet another round of poker. Dahlia Rose, hanging off his shoulder, leaned in to give him a kiss.

“They’re all saying the same thing, owner’s probably in the VIP section of the nightclub,” Juno whispered.

“Then I supposed we’ll have to establish ourselves as very important people, won’t we, Dahlia?”

Some of the patrons gave up trying to beat Nureyev’s excellent poker face. A new person sat down in the empty seat next to him. They leaned in conspiratorially.

“So, I heard you two are Duke and Dahlia Rose.”

Nureyev gave them a winning smile. “The very same.”

They whistled in appreciation, watching the dealer set up the next game. “Is it true you robbed the Utgard Express?”

“Of course,” Duke picked up his cards and played his turn with barely a glance to the other players. “Dahlia and I are master thieves.” 

“How’d you do it?”

“Come now, a thief never reveals his secrets.”

“Hm.” The person considered their hand and the cards on the table, with a thoughtfulness that suggested they were playing a different game. “All in.”

One by one, around the table, the other players folded. Nureyev didn’t even look at his cards. “Match.”

They flipped their cards. Juno really didn’t understand this kind of poker any better than Ragnian Street Poker, but he knew enough to figure out that Nureyev lost. He didn’t look that put out about it.  
“Ah well, you win some, you lose some, right Dahlia?”

“The night’s still young, Duke, I’m sure we can win it back.”

The mystery player leaned back. “Tell me, Duke, are you planning on robbing this place?”

Nureyev laughed. “A fine Outer Rim establishment like this? Absolutely not, we’re on vacation. From now on, we’ll only be robbing those arrogant Solar elites, to rid them of their ill-gotten riches.”

The mystery player smiled. “If you come down to the nightclub, Duke, why don’t you come find me? I’ll make sure you get the five star treatment.” They left the table.

“Think that was the owner?” Juno asked in Nureyev’s ear.

“No, just a little test. I do think they’re going to report back to her though.”

“So, should we go down then?”

“Not yet, we don’t want to seem suspicious.” A little louder, he said, “Why don’t I teach you to play, Dahlia?” and sat Juno down in the seat next to him.

“Alright, but I’ll have you know, I’m a terrible gambler.”

Learning poker from Duke/Nureyev was kind of fun. It was probably the first time Juno had actually relaxed in…

Well, in a while.

Nureyev, as Duke, was charming in a bumbling, head-over-heels kind of way, where he would be playfully competitive but would lose on purpose and then praise Dahlia for his excellent poker skills. Once Juno picked up the rules, he could be a little more competitive back, and Nureyev started pretending to try to cheat by stealing a kiss and a look at Juno’s cards. To anyone watching, it looked like a man with too much money to burn trying to get his too-serious husband to crack a smile.

If he didn’t think about it too hard, Juno could almost pretend it was for him. That they really were on a vacation, and Nureyev really was trying to get him to smile, and Nureyev actually loved Juno, the real Juno, the Juno he’d been traveling with instead of the perfect Juno that he’d made up. 

After another hour, Nureyev stood and offered an arm. “Shall we go dancing, my dear?”

“I’d be happy to.” Juno hooked his arm in Nureyev’s and let himself be led down to the nightclub. It was packed with people, lit in blue and purple. To Juno’s surprise, Nureyev seemed to be actually leading them to the dance floor. Juno resisted, pulling away from Nureyev’s side.

“I don’t dance.”

Nureyev let out a surprised chuckle. “Come on, Dahlia dear, it’s easy. Just follow my lead and--”

“I know how. I just. Don’t.”

Nureyev looked at him with concern and Juno let himself believe it was real.

“Let’s go to the bar then, shall we?”

They were only at the bar for about two drinks before their mystery player reappeared.

“Duke and Dahlia! I’m so glad you made it. You don’t have to slum it out here with everyone else; allow me to take you to the VIP lounge.”

“We’d be delighted.” 

They wove their way through the crowds to a short set of stairs blocked off by a velvet rope and a woman buff enough to be a Kanagawa. She let them all in without question. Inside was a room only slightly less packed but quite a bit quieter. There was a smaller dance floor but most of the room was taken up by plush couches.

“Any idea what this owner looks like?” Juno muttered.

“No. We may have to split up, cover more ground.”

“On it.”

They each took a group, Juno picking up his next drink from a scantily clad server on the way. When he sat on the couch, what he thought was a group of people hanging off of someone in the middle turned out to be three people consoling a crying woman. 

“What happened to her?” Juno asked the closest patron.

“Same thing that happens to all of us,” He said bitterly. “These bastards,” he waved around the room, “these bastards are all the same. All these rich motherfuckers throw their money around to get whatever the hell that want, whoever the hell they want, and then they use you up and throw you out.”

“She got dumped?”

The patron barked a laugh into his drink. “Yeah. Yeah she got dumped. Her guy left her for someone younger and prettier.” He gave Juno a once over. “Yours will do the same. They always do.”

“It’s different,” sputtered Juno, unsure why he was defensive, “we’re married.”

“Oh yeah?” He pointed to the crying woman. “So was she.”

Juno couldn’t help but look at Nureyev, easily sliding in with the crowd of business-types with cigars.

“You think you know someone, and turns out they were just using you.” The man took another drink.

After Nureyev told Juno his whole tale of evading Sundress, Juno had thanked him, and Nureyev said something that echoed in Juno’s head.

“Of course. After all, I still have a use for you.”

Nureyev had fallen in love with Juno Steel after one night. What was so different about Hera?

And what happened when Nureyev decided he was no longer useful?

Juno finished off his drink and held up a hand for a new one.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Someone nudged Peter. “Hey uh, is that your husband?”

Peter followed their gaze to see Hera, sloppy drunk and in an argument with someone, quickly approaching belligerent. Some of the guards around the room had started eyeing him.

Peter gave a winning smile to the group around him. “My apologies, Dahlia gets like this sometimes when he’s had too much to drink. If you’ll excuse me.”

He walked over to Hera and pulled him by the elbow away from the argument. He apologized to the person Hera had been arguing with and pulled him aside.

“Dahlia, dear, I think you need some fresh air.”

“I’m fine,” he protested, “they’re the one with the problem.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Peter hauled him out of the VIP area, looking for a place to talk. He found it in a supply closet near the bathrooms. Hera stumbled in and leaned against the racks at the back. 

“You’re drunk,” Peter said, clearly unamused.

“Am I?” said Hera, clearly amused. “You get to decide what I’m not and now you can decide what I am?”

“What are you talking about?” Hera just shook his head, going quickly from bubbly-drunk to sad-drunk. He leaned back. Maybe he was shorter than the real Juno, Peter noted. The real Juno never looked this small. “Can you at least stick to our plan?” Peter asked, exasperated.

“Our plan?” Hera laughed. “What part of it is mine? The part where you use me as a bargaining chip for an apparently unstoppable killer or the part where you kill me in the end?”

“Excuse me? I never said—“

“You didn’t have to, Nureyev. Don’t forget, I know everything. And that’s the problem isn’t it? You and I both know you can’t just let me go knowing your name, your history.” His eye was a challenge, holding steady even as his hands shook. “Why not just get it over with?” His voice growled low with desperation. Peter held his gaze.

“This is ridiculous. I am sending you back to the hotel room and then I am rejoining the party.” 

Right when Peter went to grab his arm, Hera’s hand went to his belt. Instinct kicked in, Peter shoved Hera back against the shelving with an arm across his chest and ripped the gun from his hand before he could even fully draw it. Peter pointed the gun at Hera’s head, barely an inch from his face. 

He still held Peter’s gaze.

Peter steadied his breathing and backed up, keeping the gun exactly where it was until he was an arms length away. 

“How about this then,” Peter said, “follow the plan and I won’t kill you now, and then we can talk about whether or not i’ll kill you later.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. You’re a dangerous man Peter Nureyev. I won’t help you anymore. Looks like you’ll have to kill me here, now.” Hera smiled, sharp and bitter. “But I know you won’t.”

“Oh?” Peter clicked off the safety. Hera didn’t even flinch. “And why is that?”

“Because at the end of the day, I still look like your ladylove. Sound like him. Act like him. Know what he knew. You said it yourself, I’m a very good fake. And you of all people should know that there’s not much difference between a good fake and the real thing.”

“You’re not him. You’ll never be him.” Peter tried not to let the tremor in his hands show. Tried to fight the urge to take the gun away. That stupid voice in the back of his head that didn’t know any better was telling him to protect Juno, not to threaten Juno, to apologize, to hold him, to do a thousand things he couldn’t do because the real Juno was dead.

“Maybe I’m not,” Hera agreed. “But can’t we pretend?” Peter was frozen by that gaze, that soft skin, those lips. 

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Hera leaned forward and kissed the muzzle of the gun.

Peter pulled the gun back and grabbed the front of Juno’s jacket. For a moment he just shoved him against the shelving with the butt of the gun against his temple, like Peter would knock him out right there. But then he got hit by by that deep brown eye and he was sucked in. He crashed their mouths together and Juno quickly settled against him, pulling his hips in close by the belt loops and sucking on Peter’s bottom lip. God, it had been so long. Peter wrapped the arm with the gun around the back of Juno’s neck and held him there, trying to pull him in close enough and bite his lip hard enough to stop thinking.

Those lips…

Peter Nureyev was only a man, at the end of the day. And he was very good at pretending.

 

~*~*~*~

 

As Peter laid next to Hera in their hotel bed, he couldn’t sleep. It was a different man, a different hotel, a different planet even. The situations were in no way similar. But every time he got close to sleep he saw that half asleep vision of the last glimpse he ever got of Juno Steel, and he jerked awake like this time he could stop him. In his dreams he was always too late. Even though he knew the man beside him with moonlight outlining the soft curves of his face was not his Juno, he couldn’t quiet the foolish voice in the back of his head that said to make sure he was still there the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hera Potnia - Queen
> 
> >:3c
> 
> art for this chapter is here: https://lucarosearts.tumblr.com/post/182825323809/heres-my-second-piece-for-the-penumbra-mini-bang  
> or here: https://www.instagram.com/p/Bt6A1l3l9B7/?utm_source=ig_share_sheet&igshid=18zjy389mdkha


	9. Nympheoamene

At breakfast the next morning, Juno pretended he didn’t have a hangover while Nureyev pretended they hadn’t slept together.

“So, uh, any luck last night? I mean, in talking to the owner.” 

“No. I didn’t even figure out where she was. I was about to ask if anyone else had seen your employers when I had to break up a fight.” Juno winced. “What did they even say to get you so riled up?”

“I’d… rather not say.”

“You mean you don’t remember?”

“Oh no, I was not nearly that drunk.” Juno stabbed at his plate. “Just drunk enough to make slightly worse decisions than normal. I remember everything.” He put extra emphasis on the last sentence and Nureyev pretended not to notice. 

“Well, perhaps you should stay sober tonight when we try again.”

Juno groaned, “Again?”

“Yes, again. Unless you have a breakthrough and remember where your employers’ base of operations is, this is our only lead.”

“How long are we going to keep this up, Nureyev?” He had to know by now. He had to. Because if he didn't...

Nureyev just glared. “Keep what up, Dahlia?”

“This- this whole…” Juno waved his hands around them as if that would communicate everything he couldn’t say. That’s when he saw her. Across the room, a woman he’d worked with on a job not too long ago. A hacker, or something. She must’ve looked up at about the same time, because she caught Juno’s eye and waved. “Actually, I might have another lead.” Juno got up from the table quickly, closely followed by a confused Nureyev.

“Morning,” she said as they got closer. She looked like she was trying to conjure Juno’s name with no luck.

“Dahlia.”

“Right, Dahlia.”

“And this is my… husband, Duke. Duke, this is someone I worked with briefly.” 

“Ah. A pleasure to meet you. Dahlia never introduces me to his work friends.”

“I didn’t even know he had a husband.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a real enigma,” Juno cut in. “Did you happen to see my bosses here recently?”

“Oh, you’re not with them?”

“Trying to catch up, actually.”

“Wow, sorry you came out all this way then.”

Juno and Nureyev exchanged a glance.

“What do you mean?”

“Well they said they were having no luck here so I put them in touch with a reputable buyer. Someone I trust. They set up a meeting.”

“Where?” 

“They said they have a cafe where they like to meet buyers.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Juno said.

“They left yesterday morning. If you leave now you might be able to meet them there.”

“Great, thanks.” Juno grabbed Nureyev and started walking out of the restaurant. 

“Wait, Dahlia, we need to pay. Wait.” Nureyev pulled away. “Where is this cafe?”

“It’s where this all started, Rose. We need to go back to Mars.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Four days until they were back on Mars. Four days in a tiny rental ship.

At least this one had two bunks. 

For the whole first day, they barely spoke. Just wandered the ship trying to occupy their time and ignore whatever the hell was cracking between them like static.

On the second morning, Peter woke up early to see Hera already up and stretching. Hera caught him watching.

“My shoulder’s been bothering me," he explained, "I learned some physical therapy stretches the first time I hurt it. Hoping they work the second time.”

“How did you hurt it the first time?”

It almost seemed like Hera wasn’t going to respond. Then, “I made a mistake, and someone else paid the price for it. And before they did that, they stabbed me in the shoulder.” He said the last part like a joke but it didn’t cover his dark tone on “paid the price.”

“Getting stabbed wasn’t paying the price?”

“You should’ve seen the other guy.” He switched to another exercise. 

“Is there any way I can help?” 

“...Help the person who stabbed me?”

“No, help with the stretches.” Hera just blinked at him. “After all, it is my fault you were shot in the first place.”

He seemed like he was going to refuse, to brush Peter off like Juno always used to. But to both of their surprises, he said, “Sure, why the hell not.”

His skin was warm and his voice was soft as he talked Peter through the exercises. It was grounding. A reminder that Hera was a real person, not just a copy of Juno. He had a history, stories to tell. For a moment, Peter was struck with the irrational urge to coax it out of him. He brushed it off as a combination of grief and sudden closeness. 

In the afternoon of the second day, Hera walked up to where Peter was sitting in one of the pilot’s seats keeping an eye on their progress through space. Before Peter could ask what he wanted, he appeared to steel himself and pulled Peter by the collar up into a kiss.

“Sorry, I just--”

“Don’t apologize.”

Peter pulled him right back in.

The second night, they ended up in the same bed.

...And the third.

Hera was a strange mix of cold and friendly, occasionally becoming distant but always coming back to Peter like an asteroid in a decaying orbit. He was unknowable, intoxicating.

On the fourth night, only hours from Mars, Peter looked at the man asleep in his arms and tried to pinpoint the moment when he stopped pretending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hera Nympheoamene - who leads the bride
> 
> So next chapter is actually gonna be the last real chapter, ch 11 is just a short epilogue.


	10. Zoagonos Thea

It was dusk when they landed on Mars. Their false passports went through without question. The shuttle ride was uneventful. They made their way through town as the sun bled into the sky and refracted off the dome into red and orange sections of sky. 

Soon, this would be over. They’d catch up with Buddy and she’d clear up the truth and Nureyev would be heartbroken when he realized that his perfect Juno wasn’t nearly as perfect or as dead as he thought. 

Dying is easy. Hell, people do it everyday without even trying. Once you’re dead, people want to cling to the good memories of you and brush away the bad. They show up to your funeral and tell stories like they wouldn’t have spit in your face if they saw you on the street a week before. 

The living don’t get the shake that off. Everything you do weighs on you, good and bad. 

The cafe was closed off with police tape. A few windows were broken and boarded over, with bright “returning soon!” signs poorly taped on. 

“You’re sure this is the place?”

“Yeah. This is where it all started. It makes sense, they liked to have meetings here.”

“Even when boarded up? This looks like an active crime scene.”

“It is.”

Nureyev popped the lock easily, and they pushed inside. Someone had made an effort to clean up some of the debris from the fight, but the floor was still covered in glass shards and you could see the scorch marks where the blasts hit tables and chairs. The blood stain from Blazer was still clearly visible in the cracks between the tiles.

“Did we miss them?”

“Not necessarily. This place has a basement for the more… illicit transactions. It’s why they like coming here.”

“Doesn’t this all seem a little, I don’t know, convenient?” 

“After the week I’ve had, I’m alright with a little bit of convenience. Come on.” Juno led the way through the swinging kitchen door towards the stairs to the basement. Voices floated up, unrecognizable words but familiar tones. Buddy. “See? That’s my employer’s voice.”

Nureyev caught his hesitation. “Hera.” He placed a hand on Juno’s arm. “You don’t have to face them if you don’t want to. I can handle this on my own.”

“No. No I--” Juno pulled away from him. “This has to end, Nureyev. One way or another.”

“If you’re sure.”

Nureyev pushed past him and led the way down the stairs, knife drawn and ready. The basement was dark, just a few lights on. It was set up like a bar, with private booths along one wall and tables in the middle. The bar was cleared out though, and the tables pushed aside. The voices were coming from one of the booths. Juno nearly rushed toward it, ignoring Nureyev’s protests.

“Buddy, thank god, I’ve been looking--” He pulled back the curtain to find an empty booth. Nothing on it but a comms on the table, playing a looped recording of that deal gone wrong. Juno whipped around in time to see Sundress break a thick glass bottle over Nureyev’s head. He crumpled like a puppet with cut strings. Juno didn’t have time to draw his gun before she was on him, grabbing his wrist and his neck and pushing him back onto the booth’s table. His head was ringing from hitting the table and he tried to get enough of his bearings to attempt to throw her off. 

When she let go of his neck, he was too busy gasping for air to realize why. Not until the cuffs clipped tight around his wrists. She threw him to his knees and strode towards Nureyev, bleeding but conscious, still laying on the ground.

“Hey!” Juno shouted, “I’m not done with you.” He tried to kick as she passed, or draw his gun from behind his back. The chain connecting his handcuffs to the table yanked him back, but she turned her eyes on him. They were tempered rage, cold-forged and steadier than steel. She stomped on his leg and he felt something give that really shouldn’t. He held back a scream as white-hot pain shot up his leg. She plucked the gun from his holster and tossed it aside, turning back to Nureyev. He was half up, but one kick to the chest sent him back sprawling. She put a boot on his wrist and ripped the knife from his grip. 

Sundress pinned him down. He barely got his arms up in time to stop her from bringing the knife down straight into his heart. She was leaning all of her weight onto the knife and Nureyev was using every bit of his strength to keep the point an inch from his chest. Juno could do nothing but watch he lost another millimeter. 

“Stop!” he yelled. “Stop, you don’t want him, you want me, remember? Let him go.”

She turned to him, face contorted in malice. Her chest heaved and her hair stuck to her face with sweat. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? To be dead?” Juno’s heart stopped. The knife sunk ever closer. Nureyev looked between the two of them, confused. “I know, because I’d like that. But not yet.” She pushed harder, and Nureyev hissed as the tip hit his skin. “No, no not yet. First, revenge.” She pulled her hands back jerkily and slashed across Nureyev’s forearms. Blood spilled from them as Nureyev clearly held back a scream. He rolled over onto his side and pulled his arms close. She pulled his head back by the hair and pressed the knife against his throat. “I don’t just want you dead, you miserable little whelp. I want you to suffer like I’ve suffered. So I’m going to do to you what you did to me. I’m going to kill the one you love.” 

“Wait, what? That’s what this is about?”

“What else would it be about?”

“She’s not dead!” 

“Liar.” But she was shaken, just a bit. “You shot her in the back. I saw the blood. No one can survive that.” 

“I use a weakened gun. I broke one of the focusers.”

“Why?”

“I’m not a killer. Check my gun if you don’t believe me.”

She slowly got off of Nureyev and went to the gun. It only took her a few seconds to see that it wasn’t strong enough to kill anyone.

“That’s why there was so much blood. A wide blast, but not deep enough or powerful enough to do a lot of damage.”

“Where is she? Where did they take her?”

“St. Dominic’s, probably. It’s the closest hospital.”

She absorbed all this slowly. “If you’re lying--”

“I think you’ve made that point already.”

And then she was gone. Now with time on his side, Juno worked his way out of the handcuffs, using the chain holding him back to weaken the links until one snapped. He limped to Nureyev, who was catching his breath, blood flowing sluggishly from the cuts on his arms. Juno knelt over him and began tearing strips from his shirt to use as bandages.

Nureyev said something too quiet for Juno to hear. Assuming it was just shock, he kept going.

“Juno,” Nureyev whispered.

“Yeah?” Juno said, not looking up from his work.

“Juno.” 

Then it hit him. Just “Juno”. Not Hera, or Not-Juno, or an alias, just Juno. Juno looked at Nureyev’s face. He was looking right back like the heavens had opened and dropped a scruffy one-eyed detective to bandage his wounds.

“Juno.”

“Yeah, Nureyev. It’s me. It’s really me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hera Zoagonos Thea - Lifebringing goddess
> 
> You didn't really think they'd find Buddy, did you? 
> 
> Anyway this is the last Real chapter, in two days as usual im gonna post the short epilogue, but thank u all so much for coming with me on this ride and for all the sweet sweet validation. 
> 
> Once again, special thanks to ginnie-darling for beta'ing, lucarosearts and specialtater for the art, and everyone in the penumbra mini bang for being so encouraging. luv u all
> 
>  
> 
> Another lil note: St. Dominic is the patron saint of the falsely accused (:


	11. Lucina

“I never did get that dance,” Nureyev said. Juno gave up trying to turn off the Lighthouse’s jukebox to look at him.

“What, from the nightclub?”

Nureyev nodded. The warm light of the bar lit up that sweet, smitten look on his face. He was sitting on one of the barstools, the drink in his hand half-forgotten in favor of sitting back and watching Juno. He was owed an explanation, at least. 

“I haven’t really danced since… my brother…” Juno tried to breathe through the lump in his throat. Nureyev set down his glass and crossed the room to put a gentle hand on Juno’s arm. 

“You don’t have to tell me now,” he said softly. “But I’d like to hear it. And to dance with you, should you ever want it.”

Normally he’d say no but… They were the only ones down there. And it was Nureyev.

“Why the hell not.”

Nureyev smiled and put a gentle hand on the small of Juno’s back and another in his hand. They swayed around the bar in time to the music. Nureyev led Juno into a slow spin out, and then back in, nearly chest to chest.

Nureyev was looking at him like that again. Like Juno was his own personal miracle. Juno rested his head on Nureyev’s chest and made an attempt at a joke.

“You know, if I had known Sundress’s monologuing would get you to figure out it was me, I would’ve gotten her monologuing a lot earlier.”

Nureyev laughed and pressed a kiss to Juno’s forehead.

“That’s not how I figured it out,” he said.

“No?” Juno leaned back. Nureyev grinned like he had a particularly juicy secret.

“No.”

“How’d you figure it out then?” 

“Oh Juno,” he cupped Juno’s face in both hands, running a thumb tenderly over Juno’s cheek. “You’re the only person in the universe that I could fall in love with twice.”

Juno pulled Nureyev down by the lapels into a kiss. Nureyev held him tight like he wanted to make sure Juno wasn’t going to slip away ever again. 

Juno held him back just as tight, trying to get across what he couldn’t say: he was there to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Juno Lucina - Iightbringer
> 
> thus concludes the l've ever finished and posted. 
> 
> thanks for reading

**Author's Note:**

> Hera Khere- widowed/estranged/aggrieved 
> 
> This work is honestly kinda funny in light of the latest episode because it implies that even after working with him for months, The Big Guy still hasn't told Juno his name. 
> 
> As always, hit that mf comment button if I made you sad, and/or come yell at me at my tumblr: prince-hamlet


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